#aaron hotchner reader insert

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?" 

"You're outside." 

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume. 

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says. 

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him. 

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep." 

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner." 

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here. 

"Yeah, please. If you want to." 

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay? 

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome." 

"Bye." 

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency. 

Maybe you should. 

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person. 

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature. 

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head. 

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV. 

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?" 

"A little," he concedes sympathetically. 

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck. 

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say. 

"You sure?" 

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips. 

"I'm good. Better, if you would…" 

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down. 

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close. 

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own. 

"Slow down," he chides gently. 

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings. 

He gives you a short, hard kiss. 

"Hotchner." 

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency. 

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll. 

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight." 

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it. 

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess. 

"You're not telling me something." 

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?" 

"I think that's obvious." 

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron." 

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am." 

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt. 

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror." 

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks." 

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses. 

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not. 

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does. 

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings. 

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue. 

It's you. 

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest. 

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same. 

You're not sure anymore. 

"Yeah," you say roughly. 

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey." 

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off. 

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would. 

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant. 

But what? 

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect. 

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices. 

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting. 

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side. 

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?" 

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back. 

Phase two, your clothes. 

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them. 

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit. 

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'. 

"I know," he says. 

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break. 

"You like them?" you ask worriedly. 

"What makes you think I don't?" 

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?" 

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them." 

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point. 

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears. 

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm. 

"Hi," you say, unsure. 

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously. 

You startle. "No, of course not." 

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?" 

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-" 

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him. 

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur. 

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-" 

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up." 

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make." 

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?" 

"No." You smile as you say it. 

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector. 

"You didn't even try." 

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are. 

"Don't make fun," you beg. 

"You're embarrassed." 

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"  

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. 

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?" 

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long." 

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum. 

"Oh, don't." 

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry." 

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart." 

"I did miss you," you relent. 

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too." 

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember. 

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend. 

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine. 

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow. 

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites. 

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria. 

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes. 

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask. 

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning. 

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No." 

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes." 

"I'll do it in the morning." 

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?" 

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something." 

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back. 

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes. 

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?" 

"Depends." 

"On what?" 

"You know I care about you." 

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way. 

"Do you know how much?" he asks. 

"Is that a trick?" 

"No." 

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting. 

"Yeah, I know how much." 

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways." 

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you. 

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too." 

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?" 

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together. 

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look. 

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too." 

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears. 

"I'm not," you say quickly. 

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow. 

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them." 

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown. 

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled." 

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday." 

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home. 

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath. 

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could." 

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No." 

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together." 

"That's not going to work." 

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up. 

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there." 

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again. 

"Sweetheart." 

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile. 

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness. 

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him. 

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice." 

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it. 

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-" 

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?" 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?" 

"I love your voice," he says agreeably. 

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time. 

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later. 

Mostly because Aaron pushes you. 

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater. 

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall. 

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves." 

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it. 

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you. 

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss. 

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter. 

Your lips buzz. 

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back. 

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into." 

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain. 

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom." 

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?" 

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

— 

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick. 

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill. 

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile. 

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs. 

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly. 

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her. 

She steps into your path. 

"Sorry," you say again. 

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks. 

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes. 

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side. 

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!" 

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand. 

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake. 

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only- 

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you." 

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you." 

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?" 

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared." 

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?" 

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun." 

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement. 

"He really doesn't talk about me?" 

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me. 

You pretend to check your watch. 

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance. 

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says. 

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes. 

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered. 

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline. 

You're beautiful. 

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it. 

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself. 

"Hi, honey." 

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower. 

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-" 

"Are you sure?" 

"...Are you okay?" 

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody. 

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?" 

"What's wrong with your clothes?" 

"You tell me, detective." 

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels. 

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you. 

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it. 

"I don't understand." 

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?" 

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you." 

You wipe your wet face with mean hands. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you." 

"No. I don't wanna see you." 

"Honey-" 

"Leave me alone, Aaron." 

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry. 

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing. 

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive. 

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling. 

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either. 

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking. 

It's him. Shocker. 

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone? 

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this. 

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad." 

"What else?" 

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things." 

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks. 

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day. 

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted. 

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would. 

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees. 

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain." 

"I met Emily Prentiss." 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like." 

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad. 

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like." 

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me." 

"Yes." 

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely. 

"Yeah, honey." 

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face. 

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?" 

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising. 

"Then why?" 

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off." 

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues. 

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself." 

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him. 

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over. 

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin. 

"How long have you felt like this?" 

"Like what?" you ask wetly. 

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance. 

"I don't know." 

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch." 

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches." 

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is." 

"They know about the lunches?" 

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry." 

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"Mm. Can we go home?" 

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again. 

You watch him drive. 

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't. 

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding. 

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep. 

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty." 

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam. 

—

+1 

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper. 

You can't believe you're here. 

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself. 

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here. 

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you. 

All eyes on me. 

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen. 

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you. 

"Don't punish me." 

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing. 

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur. 

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine." 

"What part is that, Agent?" 

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start." 

༺༻

The only thing you could hear was your own panting breath and the soft sound of his hips connecting with yours as he buried himself into you over and over again. You could barely think straight, one hand gripping his sheets and the other holding onto him for dear life. A little while ago, the two of you were out with the team for drinks after a case, and Hotch could tell you weren’t really feeling it. He’d offered to give you a ride home, and somewhere along the way you’d rerouted to his for a nightcap. Neither of you were particularly drunk, but you were thankful for the liquid confidence (and his) when he made the first move. He’d asked repeatedly if it was okay and if you’d wanted him to stop, knowing that he was your boss and that you knew he’d just finalized his divorce from Haley. You seemed to notice his flirting (that Emily and Derek continually pointed out to you, no matter how many times you’d brushed them off and said they were seeing something that wasn’t there) a little bit when him and Haley were separating, but you’d never ever think he was actually attracted to you, let alone to the point where he’d want to sleep with you, and yet…

The feeling of him inside you was more than you could have ever fantasized about (and you did fantasize about it). Not only did he take his time devouring you first, making you come twice with his mouth and fingers, but he made sure you were well enough aroused to be in nothing but total ecstasy when he was ready to fuck you. Every single stroke felt so fucking good. He was perfect. Well… perfectly sized for pleasure. Great in bed. Not perfect. Not… whatever.

“H-Holy… shit, Hotch…” your eyes screwed shut and your jaw fell slack as you heard him chuckle and groan.

“I think… we’re at the point where you can… call me Aaron, darling… don’t you think?” his pace slowed a bit, truthfully because he was close and didn’t want to be finished just yet, but he wanted to give you a moment to respond to him.

You opened your eyes and found his. God, what a dangerous moment. The look is his eye as he lazily fucked into you wasnt anything you could have prepared yourself for. You tried avoiding eye contact this whole time, and you were almost successful. You knew what would happen if you held his gaze, and here you were. You knew you’d be confronted with thoughts that you’d been successfully suppressing for a long while now, thoughts you’d only let brew when you allowed yourself to think about your boss in a way that you knew you had no right to, especially because they began well before he was even separated from his now ex-wife. The desire to open up to him right now about how you feel was right on your tongue. You wanted to tell him how sexy he looked with his hair all messed up, especially from your fingers running through and pulling it as he ate you out. You wanted so badly to tell him that his face looks much better being flushed from sex rather than being flushed from your typical daily compliments. Dare you tell him that you think you love him? What a stupid, stupid idea. You decided that it’s definitely best not to say anything, maybe ever, and just respond to what he asked you.

“Are you…” you stopped to sigh, the pleasure was still too much and you wanted to last for him, “… are you sure?”

You watched his eyes half-lid as he brought your right leg to rest on his shoulder. He leaned down to you further, allowing himself a new angle to thrust into you. His pace picked up again, and this time, you saw fucking stars. You tried, but couldn’t help the loud sound of your pleasure escape from your throat. You’ve never been fucked like this, and you knew he could probably tell, which you decided you’d curse yourself for later.

You could feel the air from his lips as he spoke right next to your ear, “Does it feel like I’m sure, Y/N?”

You nodded quickly, your arms now coming around him under his arms to hold on to his back, surely leaving marks with your nails. “Y-Yes… God Aaron, yes.”

You couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be affected by your use of his first name, responding with only a low and breathy moan. He drove you so close to your third orgasm, and you could tell he was close too. His name fell from your lips again as you tried to speak, “I’m… Aaron I-I think I’m gonna..”

He panted and kept his pace, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, g-give it to me.”

The moment that your orgasm hit you nearly blinded you for a few seconds. The brightness of the pleasure your body felt was something you were sure was once in a lifetime. It affected your entire body, legs now shaking and back arched against the mattress. The pleasure kept coming as Aaron thrust into you. You didn’t even hear yourself nearly weep as you came, your pussy contracting strongly around Aaron’s rigid cock.

“That’s it, that’s a good… good girl,” Aaron stuttered as he followed close behind you with his own peak. His thrusts became sloppy, still trying to ride you through your high, as he drove into you once more with a loud groan. You whimpered as you came down, still feeling yourself ebb through pleasure as Aaron stayed inside you. The two of you breathed heavily together, locked eyes as Aaron smiled lazily at you. Goddammit. You were so fucked. Fucked.

He gestured toward your leg on his shoulder, silently asking for permission to move you so he could adjust and start to clean himself up. You nodded, trying not to make a sound as his cock left you. You didn’t think you were quite ready to move yet, but you tried to at least scooch yourself up by your elbows to begin coming back to reality.

Aaron stood, taking off the condom while making his way toward the bathroom in his bedroom. You watched him, getting a more normal view of his naked body, and for some reason you felt guilty for looking.

You shook your head, pushing the feeling away as you looked for your clothes on the floor. As you sat up, Aaron came out of the bathroom and grabbed a pair of sweats to put on. You stood, “Do you mind if I…” you gestured toward the bathroom asking silently.

Aaron smiled again, “Of course not, whatever you need. I have extra toothbrushes in the bottom right drawer,” he began walking toward the door with you, showing you, “If you want to shower, I have extra towels here.”

You nodded, deciding that would probably be a good idea. Smiling at him, you thanked him. He held your gaze, brushing your hair behind your ear, and leaned down to kiss you. It was brief, but surprising. He pulled away from you with a goofy looking smirk on his face, leaving you in the bathroom.

-

After your shower, you left the bathroom in a towel, and found your clothes folded nicely on the armchair in the corner of the bedroom. Aaron was in bed, reading glasses on, looking at a file by the light of his bedside table lamp. He looked up to you as you emerged, but you’d already made your way to the pile of clothes and started to get dressed.

“You can borrow something of mine to sleep in, if you need,” he said. You could tell this was his way of asking the question, ‘are you staying?’ and you weren’t sure what your response should be. Obviously he wouldn’t have framed it that way if he didn’t want you to stay, but did he feel obligated to offer? You knew you didn’t really have time to think about it, so you decided not to.

“I think I’m going to call an uber back to my place, actually. I’ve got some things to take care of pretty early tomorrow.”

Aaron was very good at his job. Aaron could absolutely tell that you probably don’t have something to do tomorrow that early, and that you don’t want to stay over. You hope he can also tell that it’s not necessarily because you don’t want to, but because you aren’t 100% comfortable yet, even if you don’t get a chance to become comfortable.

He set down his file and stood, “Let me drive you, don’t pay for an uber.” He made his way to grab a t-shirt and slipped on comfortable slipper-like shoes to wear in the car.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind getting an uber, Aaron, I don’t want to make you leave just to drive me home.”

Grabbing a jacket from his closet, he shrugged it on and walked over toward you. Without warning, he leaned down to your ear, delicately pushing your hair on the opposite side over your shoulder and caging you in with his hand then on the wall behind you, “Does it feel like I’m sure… Y/N?” he smiled at you slyly as he pushed himself off of the wall and walked past you out of the bedroom. You felt heat rise in your tummy and cheeks as you sighed and shook your head. What the hell were you getting yourself into? Following him, you grabbed your bag, slipped on your coat and shoes, and followed him to the car.

-

The short drive to your apartment was overall quiet, but as you were turning the corner onto your street, you knew you had to start the conversation. “Sorry for not staying the night… to be completely honest I wasn’t expecting you to offer.”

Aaron shifted to lean on the center console and nodded, “It’s alright, I know that tonight’s events overall seemed a bit unexpected. Hopefully you’re not dissapointed, though.” You turned to him, noticing the cocky smirk on his lips. Asshole.

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. “Are we… do you want to just act as if nothing happened tonight? At work, I mean… and outside of work if that’s what you want.”

You wanted to smack yourself in the face for letting your thoughts out so freely. Your anxiety surrounding this part of the situation definitely was getting the better of you, and you weren’t sure what he wanted, which made things so much worse. As the car slowed in front of your building, Aaron put the car in park as you waited for his response. You knew he was thinking about what he wanted to say, which obviously made you even more nervous.

“Y/N, I know you realize that… this is a slightly complicated situation.” You nodded, urging him to continue, “I need you to understand that since Haley and I separated… it’s taken a lot of my own will power to keep myself from you.”

Everyone on the team knew that one of its strongest members was its leader, Aaron Hotchner. Hearing him confess that he’s had a hard time keeping himself away from you was a statement you could never have expected. You knew he was flirtatious toward you, no matter how much you denied it to yourself. You knew he was soft for you, you knew he favored you in appropriate ways, and you knew that the team noticed. You just wished that you let yourself see it. Maybe you’d have to start, that is, if he wanted you to.

“I… I loved and still have love for Haley, she is the mother of my son and the woman that I thought I would love for my entire life. Coming to terms with that not being the case has been hard. I would do anything for Jack, you know that. I don’t mean to tell you things you already know, but while things are still being worked out custody wise, and while we work out a way to tell the team and… Strauss, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to pursue you publicly. I need you, though, to understand that I want to when I can, if you’ll let me… and that I’d like to continue to see you privately, if that’s something you want.” Another beat of silence, “I like you… more than I should, more than I care to admit to myself. I think about you, I want to be around you when I can be. I… want you.”

You nodded, trying to hide a smile. “May I speak freely, sir?”

Something in his eyes seemed to darken at the formality, “You may, agent.”

“I want you, I have for a long time. I would really like to continue… whatever this is, whatever you want this to be, however you want to.”

The lustful look in Aaron’s eye turned briefly into fondness, you believe, if you caught it right. He reached for your hand and gave it a light squeeze, “I know this isn’t ideal for you, and I know it will be hard to keep this from the team. Are you sure?”

You adjusted yourself to lean into him and kiss him unexpectedly with fervor, a kiss that made him brace himself on the steering wheel and grasp the back of your head for reassurance. He grunted as you leaned him further back, returning the kiss so fiercely that you had half a mind to ask him inside with you.

“Aaron," you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s it. Ride my face, honey.”

Words spoken as quickly as a breath; quiet, almost indiscernible. Soft lips pepper kisses against your slick folds, the nub of Aaron’s tongue sliding through skilfully. He makes way towards your delicate pearl, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your plump, curvy ass. He’s so sensual in his motions, humming beneath you, his lips suckling at your sensitive bud, his tongue lapping around your bundle of nerves like a man starved.

You know he is not, as he’s just had a full course meal.

Aaron’s fingers dig into your flesh. He groans against your cunt, his grip on your damp lace underwear loosening. Again, he parts it quickly, pressing a hot, wet kiss to your core in apology. 

Your knees, positioned either side of his head, shake. They tremble as he coaxes you forward, his tongue rolling through your folds, the lewd sounds of his moans of appreciation flooding your ears.

“Aaron—”

Large palms cup your ass, rising and falling with a sting. You squeak, your hands finding his hair, falling forward slightly. His strong arms hold you in place. “Just ride my face,” he grunts out, his cheeks warm, your cunt warmer, his face glistening with your slick as he continues to lap, and suckle, and kiss at your core.

Nodding your head, you slide your hand through his hair. Teeth graze against your folds slightly, and you whine, and he blushes profusely, kissing and suckling, his mouth wrapping around your bud. 

Your hips instinctively buck down, and desperation rolls through you as you rock down on his face. Aaron slides his tongue up and down your slits, before rolling his tongue softly on your swollen, puffy clit.

This must be why he skipped dessert, you muse, but all forms of glee trickle away as Aaron sucks harshly, the heat simmering in your belly. Aaron smacks your ass again, this time a little softer, as this time it does not sting, and your walls flutter, your hands curling in his hair, and he sucks harder, and —

— And you’re cumming. It’s an insatiable feeling, the humming of Aaron’s voice as filthy words spill from his lips, his commanding voice coaxing you through your orgasm. “That’s it, honey,” he practically moans from beneath you, his eyes so blackened and blown you can see yourself in them, “cum for me. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

The drive back to my house was silent, and I hated it. I hated it because it reminded me of those early days when I was still so unsure of him, unsure of how he felt about me. I was sure that he despised me. And my eager-to-please personality just couldn’t stand it.

Now that I knew that he liked me, his silence meant something even worse: his disappointment and anger. And I hated the thought of him being even discontented by my behaviour.

“Are you really going to ignore me forever?” The question escaped me before I could process it, making him stop in his tracks as he prepared himself to storm into my house and hide in his own designated wing. But I didn’t regret it once it was out. I much preferred to have him looking at me with fire in his eyes than pretending I didn’t exist at all.

“Isn’t this what you wanted? I mean, you ignored me earlier today, when I asked you not to go out into that crowd. Why shouldn’t I give you the same treatment?” I shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to deal with the realization that he was right, that I had disrespected him.

“I’m sorry.” It felt pathetic, especially since I couldn’t raise my eyes to meet his, but it was all I had, and if anything, it was honest. But when he scoffed, I knew it wouldn’t be enough, and I started to panic as I pondered what else I could do to make him forgive me.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to listen to me. Why can’t you?” I didn’t know what to answer, but he didn’t seem to need it. He was on a roll now, and I knew it wasn’t the right time, but I found myself getting tongue-tied by the way the veins of his neck jumped out now that he was releasing his anger on me.

“This is my job,” he continued. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you don’t listen to what I ask you to do. Do you know what could have happened while you were out there, in a crowd of overexcited, uncoordinated people?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you do it anyway?” He let himself fall on my couch, jaw still clenched, irritation perfectly clear in each and every one of his movements. And so I took a seat next to him, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to hopefully make this better, but I decided to start by putting a comforting hand on his thigh.

His eyes immediately followed my movement, and he stared at where I touched him for a while before raising his gaze to meet mine again. Anger had been somewhat replaced by hurt, and another sentiment I couldn’t quite identify.

“I don’t want to have to deal with your death. I can’t even bear the thought of that happening.” It was fear, I realized. Fear of losing me. And that feeling was so real, so heavy, so suffocating, that it had my own heart constricting, and I squeezed his thigh so he’d know I felt it too.

“It would be a lot of paperwork,” I tried to lighten the mood, but I knew he heard the unshed tears in my tone. They weren’t tears of fear, but of guilt. I hated that the bravest man I knew was scared, and I hated that I was the cause of it.

“Don’t even joke about that.” There was so much emotion behind his words that he had me raising my gaze to meet his, and what I saw there this time made me lose my breath. “I can’t lose you. And I don’t mean that as in I don’t want to be responsible for your death, but as in I can’t live without you.”

And suddenly I knew. He didn’t have to tell me - he was begging me not to ask him to say it, in fact. I could see that. But I knew. I knew him so well, I didn’t know how I didn’t see it before.

Maybe because I’d been so busy trying to hide my own love for him, I ignored his. It was easier that way, after all. Because it was obvious - the second we knew what the other felt, we would never be able to pretend it wasn’t there anymore.

“Kiss me,” I pleaded, and his eyes widened like he wasn’t expecting it. “Kiss me. Right now.” His eyes dropped to my lips as his opened up like he was actually tempted but just couldn’t find it in himself to do it. I’d leaned over his body now, practically on his lap, when his hands went around my torso to hold me over my lower back.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” he said, making me pout. And still, his eyes never left my lips while he licked his. “I want to knock some sense into you. Can’t be rewarding this kind of behaviour.”

His words thrilled me, sending a jolt of excitement through my body that had me actually throwing my leg on the other side of his lap so I could straddle him properly. His breath was coming out of his mouth now, his gaze undecided between my mouth or my eyes.

“Punish me in other ways,” I pleaded. He looked transfixed by what I was saying. “Make me cum until I cry. Make it hurt. Have me begging you to stop. I want to feel you for days.” He was breathing heavier now, his chest heaving with the effort to keep inhaling and exhaling because of my words.

Hotch’s P.O.V.

“Please, put me in my place.” Her words were like honey, spilling out sweet and tempting from her beautiful lips that were just inches from mine now. I wanted to reach out and touch them. I wanted to reach out and lick them, taste her words as she said them against my mouth. “I’ll be good then. I promise.”

There was only so much a man could take.

“Once I’m done with you...” I warned her, wrapping her nape with my hand and pulling her even closer. “... you won’t be able to walk.” And then I finally kissed her.

It was hungrier than I ever intended our first kiss to be, but she had made me desperate. Her sweetness only added to my need for more. Our lips danced together in a way I’d only dreamed of, and when I had to let us part to breathe, her question took away the last of my control.

“Promise?”

I carried her to her bedroom blindly, relishing in the weight of her in my arms, the feeling of her legs wrapped around my body as I managed to kiss her again the entire way there. Once she was back on her own feet, our clothes were sent flying across the room, her smaller hands trembling in excitement when she reached out to undo the buttons of my shirt.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I commented, cradling her face once her body was completely exposed to me. It prompted her to throw her arms around my neck and pull me down for another kiss, but it still wasn’t enough. I wanted more of her - I wanted all of her.

“Lay down,” I ordered. “You’re not going to succeed in making me forget this is supposed to be a punishment.” The haze of lust in her eyes betrayed just how aroused she was at the idea of suffering in my hands. “Spread that glistening little pussy for me, baby.”

Slowly, because she knew I was not a patient man, she opened her legs to show me just how wet she already was with the little we’d done that evening, her hands squeezing her own breasts as she stared up at me, throat dry and chest heaving with desire for her.

She awakened something dark in me, something I never thought I’d be able to explore. Now that she was here, ready and willing and exposed, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to just tuck it away again.

Making sure that she was watching me, I leaned over her already wet cunt and spit on it, unwilling to make this situation hurtful to her in any way, but also incapable of actually taking my time to prepare her thoroughly.

“Are you sure you really want this?” I asked, eyes connected to hers as I smeared my spit over her hole, watching her clench around nothing at the ghost of my digit. This was the last chance to back down, and although I wasn’t sure if I would actually be able to pull away if she changed her mind, I knew I needed to hear the answer.

“Yes, oh, God, Aaron, please!” The words were replaced with me pushing into her, groaning at the tightness that welcomed me hungrily. She whined out loud and I froze halfway in, scared I’d hurt her somehow, but at the lack of movement her limbs wrapped around me, her legs pushing my ass in an effort to get me to bottom out inside of her.

Her satisfied moan had me chuckling, even though I was over the moon myself. Old habits die hard, I guess, and I just had to tease her, “Oh, does that feel good?” All she could do was nod, but that was alright. We were both ready for me to start truly fucking her, and at the feeling of me almost pulling out to slam myself in again, she cried out, hands clawing at my back, hopefully leaving indentations.

“You like that, princess?” I’d only ever used the pet name before to mock her, and although there was definitely some sense of jest in my tone, there was still sweetness, wonder, infatuation. She nodded once more, mouth having fallen open after I entered her, leading me to kiss the corner of her lips instead of devouring her in the way I wished to do.

“This is what I’m gonna do every time you disobey me from now on,” I warned, changing the pace to make it harder, almost bruising even. I wanted her to be on the edge between pain and bliss, and I wanted her to forever remember who it was that brought her there.

“You think I don’t hear your moans when you lay on this bed at night and touch yourself?” Her gasp denounced her surprise, and she hid her face in the crook of my neck, holding me tighter.

“You think I don’t close my eyes and imagine it’s me making you moan, giving you pleasure?” That got her to stop hiding, gaze raising to meet mine, and I smiled, brushing the hair off her face as I took it between my hands.

“We won’t have to do that anymore, darling.” Kissing her deeply, I swallowed all of her moans before they could escape her, loving to be this connected to the woman who had stolen my heart.

“You know why?” I pulled away to catch my breath, watching her glossy eyes as she shook her head, unable to speak. “Because you’re mine now, all mine.”

Voicing my deepest desire rekindled my need, making me fuck her harder, spearing her over and over against the bed. I wanted to see the marks of our lovemaking later, the imprints of my nails, the bites all over her skin.

The thought of admiring them in the morning only spurred me on.

“Tell me you need me,” I incited, forehead glued to hers, desperate to hear the words from her own lips. “Tell me you’ll never disobey me again, never put yourself at risk dumbly.”

My voice was thick as I spoke, betraying the emotion I didn’t care to hide anymore. She smiled, hugging me to her and whispered, “worth it,” and how could I be mad?

“Again,” she ordered, and with another powerful thrust, I brought us to a release that was both blinding and revealing of some sentiments I’d struggled way too hard to keep in.

Heavy kissing followed said release. I didn’t want to catch my breath, I wanted to drown in her and this moment, forget about everything else for a while.

“I want you to be the mother of my children.” There it was, the words unspoken I couldn’t take back anymore. And instead of letting the moment fill with regret, I just got out of the bed and went to grab her a glass of water, hoping she’d forget all about it the moment I was back.

“Let’s do it.”

-------

You glance at your sister. She’s worried. You can tell; she’s biting her nails and pacing around the room. You shake your head, “He’s on a case.” 

“SO? You’re in a freaking hospital.” 

You shake your head, “I’ll be fine.” You bury your head into your pillow as a fresh wave of pain rushes through you. This freaking hurts. 

           “Alright Mrs. Hotchner. It seems as though you have a pretty bad fracture in your arm. It’s bad enough that you’re going to need surgery. The sooner the better." 

Yep. You’ve screwed up. You look at Jenna and hold out your good hand. She gives you a haughty look. One that says I told you so. And if you had two good arms you’d go ahead and swat her. But you don’t. You only have one and it’s busy calling your husband. 

“Hotchner.” You can hear it in his voice. He’s tired. And from the few texts you’ve gotten in the three days he’s been gone, you know this is a bad case. 

“Hey sweetheart.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Why does something have to be wrong?” 

“Your voice is a higher pitch than usual. You only do that when you have bad news.” 

Sometimes you really hate being married to a profiler. “Don’t freak out.” 

There’s silence, “What happened?” There’s a hint of panic to his tone now. 

“I was bringing the groceries up to the apartment and the elevator was out, so I had to use the stairs. some of the neighbor kids had left some toys at the top of the stairs; I tripped on them, and fell down the stairs.” 

“How bad is it?” There’s panic now.

You wince, “I have a concussion. And some bad bruising.” 

“And?” 

“And a bad fracture in my left arm. I need surgery.” 

“I’m on the next flight out. Is the doctor there? Can I talk to them?” 

“Aaron, you don’t have to fly home for this. . .”

“You’re my wife.” 

“Yes. I remember the wedding and the vows.” 

You can almost see him rolling his eyes, “If you’re hurt I’m coming to you.” 

“What about the case?” 

“The rest of the team is here. Can I please speak to the doctor?” 

Wordlessly, you hand over the phone to Dr. Main. You listen as they explain everything to Aaron, and reassure him they aren’t taking you in for surgery right away. They want to watch your brain for a little while to make sure it's okay.

Eventually, your sister has to leave to go pick her kids up from school, and you’re left alone. You find yourself becoming more and more grumpy as the hours go along. You’re not allowed to sleep for more than two hours at a time thanks to your concussion, and your pain meds aren’t working, but you had expected that. They rarely worked on you. 

It’s nearly two in the morning, when you feel the bed dip. You know it isn’t the nurse because she had just woken you up for a check thirty minutes ago. Your arm is wrapped with a splint for stabilization until you can have surgery which lets you look behind you. And there’s Aaron. 

You smile as he wraps around you and he kisses you. It’s the best you’ve felt since you fell down those stairs. “You came.” 

He snuggles in, “Of course I came.” You sigh, and he nudges you, “What’s wrong?”

“I feel bad, taking you away from the case.” 

“Don’t. You’re my wife. You come first. If you need me? Or  even if you just want me? All you have to do is call and I’m on my way to you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Always.” 

“Even if you have to take a train?” 

“Of course.” 

“What about a dog sled?” 

He laughs, “Why would I take a dog sled?” 

“You’re on a case where there’s snow.” 

“Even a dog sled.” 

You turn to face him, careful of your arm, “I love you, Aaron.” 

“Love you too, angel.” He kisses you then, gently and slowly. It’s the best cognitive check 

you’ve had so far. 

“Are you going to sign my cast when I get it?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You laugh and drift back to sleep. You get woken up several more times, and Aaron is forced to wake up, too. In the morning he gets a clear look of how you might have downplayed your injuries. You have two black eyes, and your ribs are a dark purple. You’re lucky it’s mostly bruising. And Aaron is more than a little distraught. 

They put off your surgery for another two days. It’s two days spent in the hospital, and Aaron sets up a little office there. He takes calls and works on his laptop. You watch a lot of TV, and when you get bored of that, Aaron climbs into bed and reads to you: Pride and Prejudice. You both love Jane Austen. And Pride and Prejudice had been one of the first things you bonded over.

 When you’re finally cleared for surgery you ask your sister to come back to the hospital and stay with Aaron. While your husband is capable of terrifying  a serial killer, he turns into an overprotective, anxious bear of a man when you’re hurt. 

They let him walk back with you as far as he can go. He holds your good hand the entire time. If he slips in that he works for the FBI a few times and shoots the doctors a warning glare, you don’t say anything. Because if that makes it easier for him then you’ll take it. 

You slip easily under the anesthesia and when you wake up you’re flying. And then you see Aaron. He’s so pretty. And he has a cute butt. You make sure to tell him that. His face turns red and he mumbles a thank you. You say other things, but you can’t remember what. 

Eventually, you fall back asleep and then you wake up again and your mind is clear and your body is achy. Aaron and your sister are both there. “How’d it go?” 

Your sister is holding back laughter, but before she can say anything Aaron says, “Surgery went fine. You’re going to be in a cast for at least eight weeks, and then you’ll have physical therapy.” 

Your eyes slide back to your sister, “What is he not telling me?” 

“Only that you’re hilarious when you’re high, and who knew Aaron was so good in bed?” 

“What?” 

“You were coming out from under the meds and you saw Aaron. You told him he was pretty and that he has a nice butt. You then told him to pull down his pants so the nurses could see. From there you went into great detail about several aspects of your sex life. And all I can say is if they were true, you’re very lucky, and you should also keep an eye on Aaron, because nurses have been flirting with him ever since.” 

Your head snaps to Aaron, “I didn’t.” 

“You did.” 

“I am so sorry.” You’re mortified. 

He leans over and kisses your forehead, “It’s okay. We can just never come back to this hospital ever again. We’ll have to drive the extra ten minutes to the other one.” 

You scoff, “We might have to move. New York City would be good. It’s so packed no one would ever find us.” 

“You hate New York, and so do I. Remember when I got the offer to run the New York Office, and you threatened to divorce me?” 

“That was a joke. This is real life. Please tell me no one got it on camera.” 

Aaron lets out a chuff, “No. Thank God.” 

Your sister leans in and nudges you, “But is what you said true?” 

You look at her like she’s crazy, “I have never shared that part of my life with you, and I don’t intend to start now.” 

“Spoilsport. I’ll wear you down eventually.” 

She goes ahead and heads out and you turn back to Aaron, “How accurate were the things I was saying?"

            "Right on the money, they were the exact same things you told me after Valentine's Day weekend last year.” 

You blush because the two of you had holed up in a hotel in the Poconos that weekend, and you hadn’t left the room. Aaron had rocked your world, and you liked to think you had rocked his too. 

“Yeah, we’re going to have to fake our deaths and start over, Aaron. I’m sorry.” 

He laughs, for real this time and simply says, “Where you lead, I’ll follow.” 

With a sigh, you scrubbed at your face before looking back down at the folder, missing the look of concern Hotch threw your way.

“Y/L/N, Reid, you’re with me at the latest crime scene. Rossi, Prentiss, JJ, you head over to the station, the family of the missing girl should already be there.” Hotch said as everyone got off the jet and into two separate SUV’s.

There wasn’t much at the crime scene at this point, nothing that gave you any clues and everyone was painfully aware of the countdown.

-

Around the fifteen hour mark the team was ready to give a profile. You stood to the side as you watched Hotch describe how you were looking for a male in his early to mid 30’s who would have recently lost a five year old brunette girl. Everyone took turns giving bits of information out but you stayed silent, this time noticing the glances from Hotch.

“Y/L/N can I have a word?” Hotch asked once the briefing was over. You just nodded and followed him into an empty meeting room.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, closing the door.

“Everything’s fine.” You told him and judging by the look he shot you, you weren’t very convincing.

“Y/N,” He began but you cut him off with a shake of your head.

“There’s a little girl out there and we need to find her. We don’t have any time to waste.” And with that you brushed past him and back into the bullpen just in time for Spencer to announce that Garcia had found somebody who matched the profile perfectly.

“Noah Williams, aged 33. He, his wife and daughter were involved in a car accident, only he made it out alive. The wife was declared DOA but the daughter didn’t die until…” Here Spencer paused to skim through the details Garcia had sent over, “four days ago.”

“When the kidnappings started.” You said, causing him to nod.

“We know he doesn’t spend long with his victims due to the length of time from the girls being reported missing and then found, it’s usually around the twenty four hour mark. Isabelle has been missing for nearly sixteen hours now giving us an eight hour window to find her.” Spencer informed everybody and Hotch was quick to pull his phone out, Garcia answering on the first ring.

“Garcia, we need an address.” He said into the phone and you could hear typing noises as Garcia desperately tried to find an address.

“I have two.” She announced after a few moments. “One’s a cabin in the woods, pretty secluded, the other is a house not too far from you.”

“Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan you take the house. Y/L/N, Reid you’re with me at the cabin.” Hotch directed and people around you were quickly moving.

“You think he’ll be at the house?” Rossi asked, causing Hotch to sigh.

“Probably not but we can’t rule it out.” Everyone agreed and it wasn’t long before you were all in the SUV’s heading to two separate locations praying that the little girl was still alive.

-

“Reid, you and Y/L/N take the back, I’ll take the front.” Hotch said and everyone nodded before moving into position.

Just as Spencer opened the backdoor and headed inside you noticed a door that must have led down into the cellar. It was concealed pretty well but things looked out of place, like somebody didn’t have enough time to properly cover it up.

You turned around, not seeing Spencer, and lifted your gun higher as you walked over to the door. Thankfully it pulled open without any resistance and you slowly headed down the stairs.

As you came to the bottom of the stairs you heard crying causing you to turn around to see Isabelle, looking scared and bruised but thankfully alive, and the man Garcia had sent you a picture of.

He held a gun to the little girl’s head causing you to pause for a second.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.” He threatened, causing the girl to let out a whimper.

“Hey, it’s ok, nobody needs to get hurt.” You said as you lowered your gun. You knew Hotch would kill you for this but you just needed that girl alive. “Look I’ve put my gun away, I’m not here to hurt you Mr Williams, I promise I just want to help.”

“You can’t help me!” He shouted, the hand holding the gun shaking.

“I can, I promise I’ll do everything I can to help you but don’t let her parent’s go through what you went through when you lost Amelia.” You knew bringing up his daughter could go one of two ways and if it went south…you really needed him pointing that gun at you and not Isabelle.

“Don’t say her name!” He yelled and you couldn’t help but relax as the gun was finally pointed at you.

“It crushed you to lose her, she was your little girl and it’s not fair that she’s gone but you can’t take it out on these girls.” You tried to reason with him but you could see it in his eyes, you could see there was no talking him down.

You looked down at Isabelle and managed to discreetly signal to her to run up the stairs, out of the cellar, from there Hotch and Reid could help her.

You held your palm flat as Williams took a step closer to you, his attention no longer on the girl and with that you closed your fist and Isabelle was darting past you causing Williams to scream.

Before you even had a chance to draw your gun you felt a burning hot pain in your thigh and then another in your upper arm. As you hit the floor you heard the sound of people running down the stairs and more gun shots before your eyes slipped shut and your body went numb.

-

“What was she thinking?” Hotch asked as he paced in the private waiting room the team had been given.

“That last case with the kid really got to her, man. She blamed herself for his death.” Derek said from his seat.

“She’ll be ok, she always is.” Rossi said after a few moments of silence. Spencer really hoped that was true but he couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind.

Blood seemed to be pouring out of both the wounds alarmingly fast, Hotch hadn’t hesitated to shoot Williams before he was knelt on the floor next to you, uncaring about the blood staining his clothes. His hand cupped your cheek as he pleaded for you to wake up, desperately shouting for a medic.

It was safe to say Hotch had always had a soft spot for you though it had never been said it was obvious to everyone on the team, except of course for you. Every time someone teased you about it you just smiled and shook your head.

The image of Hotch so emotional as he held your unconscious body against his chest was one that wouldn’t leave his mind for a long while.

Eventually a doctor came over and told them of your condition. You had lost a lot of blood, nearly flat lined as they operated on you, one of the bullets had shattered so it was a long process but thankfully you’d be fine.

“She’s waking up but she’s on a lot of medication right now so just take it easy with her.” The doctor advised as he led them to your room. Everyone thanked him before he left and Hotch turned to the team.

“I know you all want to see her but could I have a few moments alone?” He asked and nobody had it in them to deny that request, not when Hotch was looking more scared, more worried than they could ever recall.

“How you doing?” Hotch asked softly as he entered the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

“I’m ok.” You whispered, slowly opening your eyes and shooting him a small smile.

“Y/N,” Hotch began still talking softly as he pulled a chair close to your bed, “what you did today-” He started but you cut him off.

“Saved a little girl’s life.” You smiled, “I won’t apologize, if I could go back and do it all again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.” You told him and were surprised to see him smile. It was a rare sight for you so you couldn’t help but savour the moment.

Ever since you’d started working at the FBI you’d always had a small crush on Hotch, never acting on it because he was your boss but it was always there. The rest of the team teased you about Hotch being soft on you but you knew there was no truth to it - though seeing him here, smiling at you had you hoping they could be right.

When Hotch took your hand in his, brushing his thumb against your knuckles you couldn’t help but stare down at the joined hands.

“I know you wouldn’t.” He said, the small smile still in place. “Y/N, I need you to be more careful though, you could have called for backup. Doing it alone got you hurt, you nearly died and losing you…it’s not an option.” Hotch said, the words surprising him as well as you.

You couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment, your eyebrows knitting together as you took in the words.

“Hotch,” You began, throat suddenly dry and you had no idea what you were going to say. Thankfully he cut you off.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N.” He admitted and every part of him was screaming to shut up, he was your boss, this wasn’t right but he’d almost lost you today, if the bullet had hit you a little more to the right you would have bled out. He couldn’t lose you. “I know it’s not appropriate, I know I’m your boss but I cannot lose you.” He repeated as he lifted your knuckles to his lips

Your eyes watered, Hotch was here with a confession you’d only dreamed of hearing.

God, you wished you weren’t high on pain meds right now.

“I don’t care that you’re my boss, I don’t care what people will say. I only want you, Aaron.” You whispered, causing him to let out a watery laugh.

“I’ve waited so long for you to say that.” He admitted quietly, making you blush. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmured.

“I just got shot, I look horrible,” you laughed, causing his eyes to brighten.

“You could never.” He said, his tone so painfully honest that all you could do was smile shyly at him, a soft blush covering your cheeks.

The two of you stayed silent for a moment before a knock on the door interrupted you as Derek poked his head around. You watched as his eyes almost immediately darted to your joined hands, a small grin on his face.

“Can we come in?” He asked looking at Hotch and then you, both of you nodded and pretty quickly everyone was settled in your room.

Hotch never let go of your hand.

-

“You can take the jet home, we’ll be fine here.” Hotch told everyone as they got back to the hotel that night. There was a sense of pride as everyone shook their heads no, wanting to wait until you were released so you could all head home together.

His team was truly amazing.

Alone in bed he had plenty of time to think of the conversation that took place between the two of you. There had always been something about you but he never focused on it, when you had first joined the team he was still married but after his divorce he started noticing you more.

It was true he had always been less strict with you but he was always able to brush it off until one day he realised he was falling for you. He didn’t know when it happened just that it did but he was your boss, it wasn’t allowed.

But seeing you in that hospital bed, looking so small attached to various different wires and monitors, watching as you bled out on the dirty floor of the cellar…rules be damned, he wasn’t going to waste any opportunities with you. Even if you told him you didn’t feel the same, at least he tried.

But somehow you did feel the same.

He was still trying to register that. How could someone like you, someone so young, so much potential, so much goodness, like someone like him, he was older, he was divorced, he had a kid.

With a sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

You liked him.

He wouldn’t let a day go by where he wouldn’t show you how much he cared for you.

He couldn’t lose you, it wasn’t an option.

-

“Hey, have you heard from the hospital? How is she?” Reid asked the next morning as everyone met in the lobby.

“She’s trying to bribe nurses to let her leave so I’d say she’s doing much better.” Hotch said, causing everyone to laugh as they piled into the SUV.

The ride over to the hospital was fairly quick, everyone talking amongst themselves. Rossi sat up front with Hotch and after making sure everyone else was distracted he quietly spoke.

“So, you and Y/N,” He began, watching how Hotch tensed.

“It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?” Hotch asked, it was a thought that kept running through his head but he ignored it as best he could.

“I don’t think so.” Rossi said, causing Hotch to look at him for half a second before turning his attention back to the road. “I think the two of you are professional enough to make sure it doesn’t affect your work. You like her, Hotch, you have for a long time and she likes you. You both deserve to be happy.” Rossi said sincerely just as they pulled up to the hospital.

As everyone else got out, Hotch turned to Rossi and just looked at him for a moment.

“Thank you.” He said. He really needed to hear that it was ok and he trusted Rossi to tell him the truth no matter how much it hurt.

-

“How is she?” Emily asked as the doctor walked up to the group.

“She’s tough. Though there was a lot of blood, the wounds themselves aren’t a cause for concern. We’re going to get her some medication and then you can take her with you.” The team all let out a collective sigh of relief at the news.

“Hey baby girl.” Morgan greeted as he walked over to you, placing a kiss on your head. “How you doing today?”

“Hey,” you grinned up at him, “I feel pretty good, all things considered.” You told him honestly. Naturally your wounds hurt but the medication was working great.

Your eyes drifted to Hotch, looking for any signs of regret. You had a feeling that a night alone might make him realise all the ways this could blow up in your faces but thankfully he shot you a small, barely there smile letting you know everything was alright.

-

Being back in your own bed was a blessing you would never take for granted again. Though it was made better by the fact Hotch was here, sitting next to you as he adjusted the covers around you.

“You’ll shout me if you need me, right?” He asked. You hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight and Hotch had been worrying over you since you were discharged from the hospital. Now that the medicine was starting to wear off and the ones prescribed to you weren’t as strong you were starting to feel the pain and Hotch had offered to come home with you just to make sure you were ok. He insisted on sleeping in the guest room of your apartment which made you smile.

“I promise.” You assured him, smiling as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Ok, I’ll let you get some sleep. Goodnight sweetheart.” He whispered, squeezing your hand twice before he headed out of the room. You watched as he paused in the doorway, a smile on his face as he looked back at you.